RadioActive
by 2DaughtersOfAthena
Summary: Percy Jackson lives in the wasteland of New York city after a life-threatening radioactive substance flooded the Earth. He hasn't seen another human in years. But Annabeth Chase and her friends, Fang and Max, turn up, uprooting the world he thought he knew as the group tries to save their planet from mass destruction. FAX AND PERCABETH!
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so I was listening to this really epic song the other day (Radioactive by Imagine dragons) and I thought FANFICTION! And so here is Chapter 1...if you like it:) (Abi)**

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**Percy's POV**

Can you remember when the world was normal? When people lived lives and not survived or lost them. I can't. No one can anymore. I would be surprised if they did. Because that life doesn't exist anymore. Either because they're undead or like me. Yes, I said undead. And people like me aren't that common as you might think.

Just in case you have amnesia about the last decade or so or you seriously missed out on the news, I will fill you in. About a decade ago, (I'm not sure, the time passes in strange ways here) there was a big international science experiment for a gas to eliminate all Carbon Dioxide. Yeah, that failed. The experiment produced a kind of radioactive gas that flooded the planet, changing the majority of it to undead. And I do mean zombies. A few of us are immune. Including me. Yay.

The _lucky_ such luck. There aren't many of us. In fact I've never met anyone else like me.

You're probably thinking 'great, you can do anything you like'. I wish like hell.

There are undead everywhere. They have really bad eyesight but they have incredible smell and hearing. And they look disgusting. It's weird, I couldn't describe one to you without actually seeing it. It's no wonder they were made blind. So they don't have to look at themselves. They must have low esteem or something. But almost anything can set one off after you.

They don't register the smell unless you make a sound or a sudden movement. It's because everywhere smells of humans and zombies. The smell of zombies disguises my smell sometimes and sometimes long dead human smells mask it. If you disagree with me, try living in a world full of zombies craving your blood since you were seven. Yes, if you're good at math, I'm now seventeen. I think, anyway. Time doesn't exist in this world.

Welcome to the new age.

Everyday, I wake up to a thin layer of dust, unmoved by my sleeping. I'm not sure how the dust gets there unless zombies have skin cells too. Who knows? I break into a new place every night so the local zombies don't catch my scent and call to their little friends. Well, I say little. Some of them are nearly seven feet tall. Ash lies about the streets after falling from the skies. It looks like snow but it's ash from all the burning fires the zombies create. It's something to do with the combination of Carbon Dioxide and another radioactive gas. They have to burn things to keep up the heat for their high heat bodies. They burn the tops of buildings and the ash falls from the sky later in the day.

I wish it was snow. It hasn't snowed properly for eight years. But the zombies don't let the temperature get below 70 degrees Fahrenheit for them to live. Or not live, depends on your view of them. I'm sure there is someone out there who can explain that so much better than me.

So now you know the probable weather forecast (heat and plenty of ash/snow - you don't need a meteorologist to know that) and a few things about me and the world I live in. I turn a corner in the street I am walking down and stop, waiting for the sign of undead. If there was a zombie right now, this story would be much shorter than I intend. Nothing. **(A/N; I would never do that!)**

I squat down and shuffle around the corner, careful not to make a noise. This part of the big city is always difficult to navigate around the undead. You can get careless after a while, like my mom did, I'm always suspicious. I'll save that story for another time. I strap my rucksack tighter to me and creep up the pavement to the little corner shop. It's all I own. I glance at the sky. No smoke means no active zombies in this part. Nothing. I always seem to get dizzy when they light the sky.

My stomach rumbles and I curse it and myself for not eating for two days. I need to get to that shop soon or I might pass out and be fresh meat for scavengers. They eat our old food but human meat is just so much better. Sometimes they resort to cannibalism within their own horrible species. I've seen what they do. With my mom. The story isn't pleasant and I'm just about to eat. Maybe I'll tell you later.

I jog down the path and stop by the corner shop door. I 'live' in New York. I have been trying to get out for about five years. Since the thing with my mom. There is no point. There are zombies in the places just where you don't want them. And it would mean leaving the memories I have earned and lied here. It would feel wrong and insensitive to my mom who is here somewhere. Or what's left. I've heard Canada is a nice play to stay. It probably was but isn't anymore. The way the undead have destroyed my world is worthy of a revolution. If there was anyone to join me, I might consider it. But there isn't so I won't.

I brace myself for any oncoming zombies and stealthily push open the shop door. If I push it just soft enough, the bell won't move and my appearance won't be noted. Surprising as it may seem to you in your perfect lives, the undead still live in the ways the humans used to. They live our dead lives. It's strange to see a zombie in a shop, setting out the food for today. Although the zombies don't actually buy the products, they just steal. The shopkeepers don't mind. All zombies steal more than any human ever has.

I take a quick glance around the shop, seeing the almost empty shelves. It's good they don't look after the shop otherwise they might see the difference in number of food that will have magically disappeared when I leave. I take a loaf of bread from the near empty shelves and grab a bottle of clean water. You don't find much clean water around here. It is usually infected. I wipe the slime off of my bottle that will probably last several weeks or maybe a little less. Depends how much running I do.

I pull open the door again, cramming the bread into my bag and taking a sip of water. There goes my daily ration. I walk back down the path to my safe house and take out the map to see how far I've come from my last spot. I stole the map from a bus for sightseeing of New York. I scale the roads and see nothing. No undead. But a low groan and thumping sound of slow walking coming to a stop tells me otherwise. Crap.

If you've got a low stomach, stop reading now. I turn around to see the horrible creature staring at me with it's huge black and unseeing eyes, like a hollow and gaping hole into the abyss of misery and loss. A loss of mind and soul.

Green tinged skin that is torn and cut, slime running down the arms, legs and all over the clothes. Peeling bits of membrane breaks away from dozens of scabs all over the body. It wears the same clothes when it was turned into _this_.

A pair of baggy black jeans, laced with mud and tears in various places, showing more scabs and slime, crawling down the legs. It's bones show through the green skin like an ill child. It's t-shirt was once blue with a smiley face but more tears and muck has severed the face, making it scarred and a little creepy. A single drop of saliva dribbles down the chin as the zombie stands, lopsided, in front of me. The hair appears not to have changed. The mouth and nose are both drawn close to the skin. I scowl at the monster and it stares back, empty.

I back away slowly from it and try not to panic. Even after ten years of this, you'd think I'd get used to the sight of it. Never. Each one is different and each suffers a different cut to their body. Each a different story and life. It takes a step toward me and I jump back. Great, now it's after me. You'd think for a half dead person they wouldn't run. Well, in this world, the dead are quick. I turn and run.

**(A/N: And I was going to end it here...*shakes head in shame*)**

The zombie chases me down numerous alleys which I don't know and I try to make the difference larger but each time I turn a corner, it follows with more. Eventually I come to a stop. About seven zombies are not too far behind me. Dead end. I am so dead.

I take my pocket knife from (ironically) my pocket and slash out at them. If I could only distract them. I remember the flare gun. I pull it out and shoot it behind the group. They turn around stupidly to stare at the sky. I run through the crowd of zombies, cutting off several scabbed fingers to get away from the clutching hands pulling at my clothes. The limps fall to the floor and I sprint away, almost laughing at my luck.

I don't know how long I run for, but it seems like ages and my legs are aching when I stop for breath. I try to control my breathing and take in the chemical air. I reach my safe house for the night, a small empty house on the edge of the city, near a park **(A/N:I've never been to New York so I don't know where anything is)** and a few shops. I fling open the door and quickly shut it behind me, locking it. The house is eerily silence as I fall against the door, tired from my short day. When I sleep, I dream.

*_dream*_ **(A/N: This could be long)**

_"Percy!" she yells, running after me down the near empty streets, her curled hair flying out behind her. "Run!"_

_"I'm not leaving you!" I shout back, not turning to see what may lay behind us, probably a dozen zombies attracted by the noise we make as we shout instructions to each other. I try not to look in any particular direction other than forward. They say 'never look back'. I have never know who 'they' are, though. I catch a glimpse of her in my peripheral vision of the windows we pass of shops with zombies scraping at the glass holding them from fresh meat._

_ A decent meal._

_"They're catching up!"_

_I could have guessed that even if I hadn't turned around to see the chase. Yep. About two dozen zombies on the hunt, their almost heavy legs falling to the ground instead of running as they follow us. Eugh._

_I notice the sun is shining high in the sky, beating down on us, pressing heat into our bodies, tiring us. Not good. But then I hear the scream._

_"No!" I scream back when I see her up against a wall, bombarded by zombies, her hair finally limp after the freedom of the running, her eyes frozen in fear, paralyzed, as they bite into her drained body._

_"Go, my Percy," she utters through the crowd. I can still hear her._

_I run forward to her aid as the zombies cluster closer, my knife outstretched against their prying hands. I slice whatever I can just to get to her. Green skinned villains fall at my vicious swipes in the race for time. She is dying._

_I pull her from the wreckage of zombie bodies and set her on the warm ground. I look around for help in hopelessness, still knowing there is no one willing to help. There is no one anyway. The humans are dead. This is in the apocalypse, why would anyone help? But there can be no hope for her either. I see the bite marks made by zombies all up her neck and arms. There is nothing I can do but let her die. She is as good as dead._

_Once bitten by a zombie, there is no returning. It's something about going into septic shock or something like it. If you aren't made undead by the gas poisoning the planet already, the chemical connection of human and zombie gases will kill you at a touch. Biting. I read it somewhere. I think it was in a science museum. My mom was doing an experiment on zombie DNA and human. The two DNA's just sizzled and vanished._

_I stand back as she begins to writhe in pain._

_"I'm so sorry," I whisper, tears in my eyes as my life-long companion froths at the mouth and falls limp at last, her eyes dead and cold. The sun still shines ironically down. The one thing I can't glare at but it glares at me._

_The zombies turn their unseeing eyes to her, noses wrinkling at the smell of another dead body. The only resistance we ever had, gone. The revolution relies on me. Great.  
_

_The zombies creep up to her and I walk back, not knowing what they will do. One begins. They tear off one of arms, blood streaming from the huge wound, and begin to chew. A few fight over the new meat while I gag. A few clever zombies start pulling at her other limbs, more blood pouring from the gaping holes in her body. I turn away, my own nose wrinkling at the rusty smell of a lot of blood. I don't turn back. I run, leaving her body to the scavengers, crying and gagging._

_*end of dream*_

I wake up drenched in cold sweat, tears forming in my eyes at the final memory of my mom.

I check my watch. Then I remember it hasn't worked for three years. So much time has passed. Or so it seems, anyway.

I try and control my heavy breathing a bit better and stand up, ready to leave for another day. Today, I go to another route to find a way out of New York. I really hope this route is the one. If not, I am stuck here forever. Yay for me.

I open the door and shut it just as quickly as a flurry of blonde hair rushes past me. I grin, feeling adrenaline in my veins. A newcomer at last.

I reopen the door and step out into the dark morning. Judging by the light, it's about five in the morning and going to be an overcast day. Another great day in the big city. I turn left and right, trying to see the mystery person. They've gone. My only chance of a friend or companion again. I sigh and pick up my rucksack again, preparing for a journey.

I won't bore you with what I did today. Just know that my map got blown away. I say blown away, I mean I threw it. That was completely my fault. Whoops. I got to the border of the city and got lost. So I came all the way back to the bus station where I got my original map from. Just as predicted, the weather hasn't changed so it has been cloudy all day. Pretty much like my brain. I couldn't stop thinking about that glimpse of blonde hair that I saw. It wasn't a zombie. I'd know the green tinged skin anywhere. But that hair. It wasn't grimy like the others. It was human. And long and curled like my moms.

I peep around the corner of the bus station. Maybe zombies even update the maps? I can only hope. No one about. Now is my chance.

I run across the tarmac and into the bus station shop. I take several maps and run out into the dark daylight again. I look across the tarmac for any sign of zombies. Nothing. As usual. Just a boring day of thieving. Everyday is the same. Get up. Steal something. Watch zombies. Kill zombies. Sleep. Then again for the next day. Occasionally, I get this feeling that the day will be different. I get this feeling again today. But I seriously doubt anything will change, like it hasn't in the last decade.

I turn a corner away from the bus station.

CRASH!

I run into something. Or someone. Hey, today might actually be my lucky day! I drop my map and go down to pick it up, confused by my clumsiness. The thing or person. It wasn't green. It wasn't going manky. It was normal. I pick up the map and look up, my hand going to my back pocket for my knife, just in case I met a zombie instead of some fantasy person. A human.

The dark sky glares out behind the thing, whatever it is, and I stand up to get a better look. Judging by mannerisms, this is a human. But it just...can't be. It's impossible. There aren't any humans left. Anywhere. This has to be a trap. There is no other explanation.

Blonde hair flies out in the slight breeze behind the _girl_. It cascades over the rolling wind in neat curls. She stares at me. She runs. What is the point in that?

I pick up my map, cursing my own stupidity, and begin to chase her. **[A/N: Annabeth...chase...Chase is in a chase...]** I quickly lose sight of her. Dang, this girl can run fast. I suppose one of the advantages with being with zombies your entire life. You learn to run. A lot.

She turns a corner. So do I. I skid to a stop at the top of the alleyway. The girl is nowhere to be seen. I really need to get better at this whole tracker stuff. Well done, Percy.

I listen to the silence and try to depict the sound of running feet. Pounding heart. That was just a little too unlikely though. I smirk about, almost hating myself. How could I let another human get away? Great job, Percy. Really, well done.

I cautiously walk down the small road to the source of the crying. It can't be a zombie. Zombies don't cry. They just don't. I don't know why not, since they seem to have stolen our minds in every other way. So who is it? The blonde? Or someone else? But how can it be someone else? There is no one else? Just meeting this blonde girl was a miracle. But someone else? No. Not going to happen. But then, why is she crying.

Dang, so many questions.

I reach the door and breath in deeply, my hand on my back pocket. I've never seen a zombie cry, so I don't know if they do or not. My hand lies on my knife as I push open the door to see the waiting person. A girl. A girl with black spikey hair and electric blue eyes.

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**Oh, I wonder who that is!**

**I hope you enjoyed our first apocalyptic chapter...**

**Review if you like it and if you want updates :)  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**I know what you think! MAX! I HAVE MADE IT A CROSSOVER...Just to stop myself from writing two Apocalyptic stories because I can't keep two separate zombie stories going and stuff and blah blah blah - excuses. But Lauren thinks I'm insane for writing apocalypse stories (which she thinks I am anyway), but you can do anything with this stuff. Also, this could get confusing with all the ideas of how is all started but it will all become clear - somehow - NUDGE CHANNEL OFF! On with the story :D**

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**Max's POV**

So welcome to my world. If you don't live in it. If you are sitting at home in bed or on the sofa, surrounded by family who are talking about you or trying to involve you in conversation, talk to them. You have no idea what you are missing until it's gone. In my case, my family. I'm not going to apologize for being pessimistic, that's just who I am. Deal with it or stop reading.

Back to introductions. My name is Maximum Ride. Never call me Maximum unless you want to get beaten to the sorry ground. Call me Max or die. I'm trained. You've been warned. I live on Earth. If you can call it that anymore. I don't know what else to say. I used to have a family before the curse took everything away from me. A sister and a mother. And friends.

You might be thinking, _What curse? She's gone loopy. What is she on about?_ If not, you are now. Whatever you are thinking, I am going to tell this little story anyway. Is everybody sitting comfortably? Well, then I will begin.

Twenty years ago, there was a war on. In 2045. Another World War. World War III. Everyone was deep in fighting all over the world by the time I was born. I was born into the war. You know how your grandparents say they were born into the war. Well, that was way back when no one would let a child fight. I was born in 2046, a year after the war began. The whole planet was more developed by then. This was was the most intense thing since the whole 1930's thing. They were going to be prepared. I started to learn to fight when I was about two years old. I get that you might think, _big deal. You can't be taught how to use a gun at two!_ Yeah, well, welcome to the new age.

The thing about this war was different from both the others in the past. Maybe the first World War had swords and stuff. Not the second or all the little ones in and around the time before 2045. Yes, that does make it 2085, the war started twenty years ago, in case you forgot. Yes, that does make me nineteen years old. Got a problem? No, just what I thought.

Back to the story. So, when the world realized how advanced it was, in 2033, all World Leaders signed a document never to use this technology against each other in wars with huge magnitude. So, no guns. We always fight with swords. It's not the technology or mechanical side that matters in these wars anymore, it's choice, sacrifice and skill.

So, there were forges all over the states and the rest of the world to prepare, just in case. Thank God they did.

Even though the rules of fighting were set in stone when the war began, not everyone followed suit. The war was bad. There were people setting alight towns with just gasoline, as incendiary bombs were technology and using all sorts of house-hold items to destroy the world. But, apart from the home-made bombs and fires and general despair, there were natural disasters too. Something about the ring of fire being exposed to too much activity. I don't know. There are many people who can explain that so much better than me. It's something like a habit. Shake the Earth with the explosion and the Earth shakes back. Tsunami's, earthquakes and volcano eruptions and also plenty more. The scientist on the TV that night explained this in about three hundred words that only a person with an IQ of over 200 would understand.

People were being captured and bargained for and killed all the time so, naturally, we needed new recruits. And the age was young. Everyone at 18 was going off to war in the fields in pretty much anywhere. There were assigned fighting places. Any place, but away from towns where non-fighters could get hurt. To some, this rule was void, unfortunately.

My mom had been killed in an attack from the Finnish. They poured oil on her in the middle of the street and left her to burn. No one went to help her and by the time I got back from training and a brief education session, she was dead. My neighbor, Nudge, saw everything, but her mom forbade her to go out to help. I ran away from home that day, a few days before my eleventh birthday. It's not like your average eleven year old running away. We are stronger with this war. And then it ended.

The day my mom died was the last time I saw any of my other friends and family.

I camped out for a bit in an old warehouse and bought food with the remaining cash I owned. My birthday passed and there was a change in the war.

Okay, this ended the war, but not in any good way. I am trying not to point fingers and say names, but it was the Swedish who ended the war. They were the only ones who didn't go by the law in terms of country, this excludes the rogue idiots. Over the world, they planted a series of nuclear warheads, all containing one gas. Nova 6. **(A/N: Lauren and I both play C.O.D. So, thanks for that idea, video games)** But something went wrong. The gas was meant to kill everybody, but it turned them into this unspeakable thing. Some died, some as good as died. I say curse, I mean disease.

The gas hadn't been created properly. There was some component that wasn't supposed to be added. And the Swedish got the curse too. I guess that failed as much as it could have.

I still get confused over what the Swedish wanted to achieve by using the warheads. Winning? Peace? Complete Insanity? Or just all of the above. Probably the latter.

So, here we are today. Ten years, seven months and three days ago, the entire population that lived in the big cities got turned into these sort of zombies. Zombies that lived lives. I know that sounds creepy, but you should see them trying to drive. It's almost funny. But then I remember they want to kill me. Oh well, the fun is good while it lasts.

So, that was the end of my little story. I really hoped you enjoy it. But it's definitely not the end of my life story. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still alive. And while that is ongoing, I have a story. _And here it is._

I sit alone in the empty warehouse, feeling more lonely than ever. I haven't seen anyone for weeks. I made the assumption I was the last human in America, heck, maybe the world, about three years ago. But not seeing a zombie was strange. I mean it's great they're not trying to rip my heads off or anything this morning. But this is just plain weird. On a normal day when I am not writing this, they would be clamoring through the doors, fighting to tear off my limbs apart and eat me till they are satisfied. Don't say I am over exaggerating. But you are lucky I haven't had to meet them while writing yet. That could seriously get messy.

SLAM! CRASH! CREAK!

Ah, you have the pleasure of meeting my most acquired guests. Zombies.

The door bursts off the hinges and I take out my knife and stand, ready to fight whatever they threw at me. Which is themselves.

Okay, before I tell you what happens, you may need a little background information on these things. First of all, they look disgusting.

I know the stereotypical zombie is one with toilet roll hanging off them and sticking their arms out like a crazy child who has seen their favorite pop-star. Well, these zombies are different. Yay for us. They seem to have minds. Based on all the places I've been to around America, it depends on the place. The zombies are always enhanced versions of their former selves or something. Or the exact opposite, but you can't really know unless you know the person before they got turned.

Smart people become sharper and quicker. Dumb people are vicious and slow and a little bit more scary than the ones which are quicker. Somehow, the smarter zombies have some sort of lives. The dumb ones live on the streets. Each zombie lives a life of their own. It's like they have a mind, but not really. It's not like they're human, they just act like them.

Don't shoot me, I can't explain this very well.

But, anyway, I've been pretty much everywhere all over America in the time of the apocalypse and it seems not everyone knows about the war.

I know I said that I made the assumption I was the last human on the planet and America or whatever. Yeah, well, things changed.

I've been traveling all over America, just to see if I really was alone. And to get away from memories back in Arizona. And I found humans. Yup. I did it. I found them in Washington D.C when I was getting some food to journey off again the next day. They were also stealing from the shop. It was some kind of miracle. It was a pair of Hispanics named Ella and Leo. They were brother and sister and the boy was clearly a little insane, but totally awesome at the same time.

They came with me on my journeys across the state. And to the next. And the next. We met a few new people, but only a couple. They decided to stay where they were, purely because it was home. I didn't empathize, I didn't like them.

I know this is taking forever, but I do have a point. Preferably to make before I get killed, so I will move on thank-you very much.

So, as we traveled, meeting new people every two months or so, we learned everyone had a different theory about how this all happened. Whether it was aliens, God, meteors, evolution or whatever rubbish you can come up with.

So, maybe some more explanation later. Hopefully not. But, now, if I am right, I need to try and not get killed.

"Guys! Might need a hand here!" I yell from downstairs in the warehouse to the boys and Ella, upstairs, probably building something to shoot with. Always the jokers in this creepy little family of ours.

The zombies pour in, smashing things with their clumsy hands. Street zombies. I can tell by their ripped clothes and their vacant expressions. They come at me skittish and messy. I take my knife from my pocket, slashing at their long dead hands as they reach for my skin, wanting to turn me into one of them. Not gonna happen in a million years.

I punch and kick at the zombies, moving around them, just to be able to be free. I think it's time to leave this place. We are officially going to be known by the scent of the zombies. By the time they wake, we need to be long gone.

Eventually they are all either unconscious or dead by my feet, slanted over the blood stained wood floor. Ha. I dare you to mess with me, zombie scum. Just then, I hear a low whistle from behind me.

"I thought you said you needed help, not help removing the blood stains after you've finished."

In the reflection of the remaining bits of glass attached to the window frame where a few of them had fell into or out of. I turn and see my slightly dis-functional family. A Hispanic girl and her brother, an extremely crazy boy with strawberry blonde hair and an emo.

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**Percy's POV**

_What the hell?_

I stop at the door and glance around, feeling a little embarrassed by my own walking in. And awkward. Bad timing much? _Yeah, real good job Perce. _I begin to back out of the room again, hoping to not get any more awkward when the girl looks up. Great, now I'm stuck with a crier.

The girl wipes her red and puffy eyes and glares at me. I swear I don't even do the glare justice when I say I shrink back into the wall. Seriously, this girl has looks that will kill you. If they could. I can tell she is protective of her privacy and furious. Uh oh.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice raspy from misuse over the years.

"I could ask you the same thing?" she asks, curious, yet cautious. So now the conversation will be like 'but I asked first,' 'no you didn't,' 'yes I did'. Let's just keep it simple.

"Percy," I say, holding out my hand. She glares at it, as if wishing it would explode. I take it back, even more embarrassed.

"How do I know I can trust you?" she asks. I shrug.

"How do you know you can't?"

"Touché," she says. "Thalia." She holds out her hand this time and I shake it. Funny how that turned out. She quickly releases my hand and walks back a couple of steps, maybe nervous of meeting someone new. I know I am.

She wipes her eyes again and sits down.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, taking a cautious step closer to her.

"I'll be fine," she murmurs.

"Want to talk about it?" I know, Percy is getting all protective. Please don't laugh in my face. I know I would. But she seems upset and my mom always told me that you should try to help someone. I have no idea what she meant.

"It's my...brother. Nico," she says as her breathing gets heavy all over again.

"What happened?" I ask, taking another step closer. She leaps backwards.

"_They_ took him," she hisses through her teeth, snarling.

"The zombies?" She nods but doesn't speak. "I know how you feel."

"No you don't, no one does," she snaps.

"I know it's hard to believe, but I do. They took my mom...she...she was attacked." I try and say it as quickly as possible but cannot stop the faded memories of my dreams to jump into my mind. I scowl at them. Why should _I_ trust this girl, Thalia. I know nothing about her. The only thing is that she is human. I know it's not much of a gang or a revolution but it still is more than just one person.

"Are there any more humans that you've met?" asks Thalia.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Have you seen any more humans. I lost my friends around here a couple of days ago."

More humans? Why would I have seen more. If this Thalia girl has seen more, what have I been doing wrong. I have been looking for another like me for almost half of the time in this new world. This could seriously change things. If we found the other humans, then we could really make a change. Take away all the gases that keep the zombies alive. It could take years of studying and searching, but anything is better than just one person. Or two.

Then again, if all those humans are out on their own, they might not last very long. Nico was human. He might not be now.

"Who were you're friends?" I ask.

"I never got their names, but they all had nicknames. It was strange. We all thought it would be safer to know each other by different names if somehow the people who injected us got us back," she says. "But they were all brilliant. We knew each other like the backs of our hands. Like we have always known each other. But then they disappeared." A dark thought crossed her mind. I see it in her face.

"What was your nickname?" I know, I know. A stupid question, but if I am going to rise up from the ask or whatever, I need this girl to trust me. I also know I should not manipulate her for the sake of me. This is for the entire planet.

"Promise not to laugh?" she asks. I nod. "Pine-cone face." I really try not to burst out laughing and cover up my snort of laughter with intense coughing.

_Smooth. So smooth, Percy._

She glares at me with piercing blue eyes. I stop almost immediately, noting this girl is becoming seriously scarier after she stopped crying about her brother. I should also note that this is the only human I have met since my mom. _Don't screw this up._

Finally, I stop smirking enough to ask, "why?"

"Nico threw a pine-cone at me and it hit me in the face. He started joking about it and I guess it must have stuck with him." And I thought it was going to be weirder. "Why the hell am I telling you this?"

"You must trust me or something. I have no idea why you trust me. Could be that I'm human, unlike so many here. Could be that you're manipulating me so I trust you. Or maybe I just have one of those faces. Innocent or something," I mutter. Yeah right! Me, innocent? Nah.

"Nah, don't think so. Have I met you before?" I shake my head quickly, having no idea what she is going on about.

"What was Nico's nickname?" I ask.

"Corpse-breath." Riiiiggghhht... Thalia must have seen my bewildered expression and thought, because she answers straight away. "He believed in ghosts because of some stuff. I don't want to talk about it. You want to know, you ask him." Because that is totally possible right now.

I now have three things I want to ask her. How to continue? With 'what do you mean injected?' With 'what did your zombies look like?' Or with 'what music do you like?' Yep, because, right now, my head is solely concentrating on this weird song I heard on my iPod a couple of days ago. I HAVE AN IPOD! Yay for me. The songs get a bit same-y all the time.

"Two things. One, what do you mean injected? Two, what did the zombies look like? Were they scientists or something? That could have something to do with it all."

"Which zombies?" she asks, her face blank and confused.

"The ones that took your brother," I say slowly.

"I don't have a brother." Has she got amnesia or something? I didn't see her head get hit at any point in the conversation. So why doesn't she remember her own brother.

"Nico. You don't remember anything about Nico?" I ask. Recognition crosses her face.

"Nico isn't my brother." Great. So now I'm stuck with a person who can't even remember her brother, let alone the conversation we were just having. "He's my boyfriend."

Even better. A liar.

* * *

**So...that was a really bad ending, but I am so sorry! Really!**

**I just wanted to test out this whole crossover thing...**

**If you don't like it, I'll put it to a vote**

**Percy Jackson or Crossover of MR and PJ**

**So, thanks for reading...the next chapter shouldn't be too long, maybe a week or so...but the chapters are long :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**BA-DOOM-BOOM-CHA! CHAPTER THREE IS HERE! **

**Okay, just a warning, I have no idea how bad this is likely to be, so please please please PLEASE! forgive me? It might be absolute rubbish because I just follow where the story goes, not where I am going with the story...sometimes. IT WILL ALL WORK OUT IN THE END! Probably.**

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Maximum Ride or Percy Jackson. BUT I DO OWN THIS PLOT!**

* * *

**Max's POV**

I smirk at the small group of people I now call family and turn to leave the room.

"Hey, what happened?" asks Iggy, also known as James. I have no idea why he is called 'Iggy', so do not ask me what that is all about.

He looks around the room, his blue and clouded eyes unseeing of what is going on around him. He is blind, in case you haven't already guessed. The gas, or whatever chemical substance that changed this world, took away his sight. I don't know how, but it affected each of us differently. Iggy doesn't think it's the gas, but each of us has a different opinion on what changed this place. He says it's something to do with the reaction from a supernova of a star. Again, I don't know how that could cause an apocalypse, but it still caused a reaction, whatever it is. No one knows and I know I can't be the one that's right. Maybe none of us are.

"Igg, you basically missed Max kick some serious zombie butt," Ella says, smiling, showing her perfect white teeth, standing out a little against her darker skin tone. Iggy grins, as if he wishes he could have seen that. The whole scene I just created wasn't that impressive and I was just protecting myself and others around me. But Iggy never sees anything, so anything would seem insane to him in sight. Just seeing would be insane, probably.

"Leo, do you want to work on that bomb again?" asks Iggy, turning vaguely in the direction of Leo, though none of us know how he knows which one is which. I turn away, disinterested and leave the room calling,

"Don't blow up this place! It's a keeper!" Iggy returns a yell with,

"It's for the zombies, Max! It's for the zombies!" I shake my head and walk up the rickety wooden stars to my room. If that's what you can really call it. It's just the place where Ella and I crash at night or if we are ill or tired at all. We are basically like sisters, though not by blood or anything. This little 'gang' we have is like a family. Leo is Ella's brother by blood, but other than that, no blood relations.

In the corner of the little room are our rucksacks and blankets. We use the rucksacks as pillows since pillows are not easy to carry when on the run from people baying for your blood. They don't contain anything from our past lives, just new stuff we keep close. An extra set of clothes and various trinkets from our travels. We don't buy the clothes as there is no point, we just steal. It's not like anyone cares because the zombies aren't exactly friendly people. I'm still deciding whether they are people or not, in fact. Don't arrest me; there are no laws in this new age. Well, none like we used to have. Killing, harming or stealing from another human is not cool. You will probably become an outcast if you do that. We are all in this together, so do not forget that.

I feel the atmosphere shift a little as someone else follows me up, almost unnoticed. Iggy could never be that quiet, Ella is never alone and Leo is too hyperactive to be bothered to come to talk to me. If he does, it's to ask me questions on 'kicking zombie butt'.

"So that was fun? The whole, 'let's beat up some un-dead' thing." I roll my eyes at the low and soft voice, sensing who it is, even before they speak. It's so unlike Iggy's and Leo's voices and Ella is a girl. I would never call his voice soft to his face, but it doesn't stop my teenage mind. It would get many weird looks from my peers. That is not gonna happen.

"I liked it better when you were the quiet one," I mutter, almost to myself, not turning around from my rolled up blanket in the corner of the room, thinking about the times when he never talked, whether to me or the rest of our group. He talked to me a little more than the others and rarely shared any emotion at all, whether facial expression or otherwise. So he didn't speak and now sarcasm is one of his many languages he speaks frequently, although not all the time. This goes along with the language of shrugging, a little bit of Spanish, facial expressions, boy-talk and English. I am familiar with only five of those languages, the sixth being boy-talk.

"Yeah, sure, I bet you did," he says and from those few words I can hear the smirk and the sarcasm. I hope he isn't flirting with me, otherwise the zombie beating was nothing compared to what I will do.

"Woah, hold it right there Sergeant Sarcasm," I say, turning to face the tall and dark-haired boy standing in the door frame, his body holding the midnight blue curtain to the wood where the hinges of the door used to be. Fang is back. The door kind of got kicked in by a bunch of particularly vicious zombies before we got here. We burned the wood to create a fire on a cold night and to keep away the night monsters. They aren't real monsters, but they are just as bad. That was the day we actually arrived, but moving back to the present.

"So I guess you still like taking anger out on the undead?" he asks. I snort. NOT ATTRACTIVE. But hey, why do I care?

"You know me; just killing them is a lost cause. Make them feel a little bit of pain." His lips twitch up a bit at my joke. I offer a smile back.

"Are you okay?" he asks and I am immediately taken aback by his question. I raise my eyebrows at him and he doesn't smirk this time, suddenly serious again. Ah, back to the boy I know. "We haven't talked in a while so; are you okay?"

"I'm fine" I say slowly, looking at him weirdly. "Are _you_ okay?" He nods smirking.

"Yeah, I'm good." I nod, still a little uncertain of his mental health.

"What's with all the sudden need to talk?" he shrugs and I smile again, bemused. "What time is it?" He shakes his arm, shifting the long black sleeve away from his wrist and looks at the watch he's had ever since we first met.

_*flashback*_

_I crack open the refrigerator and take out several yoghurts and a carton of milk. Yeah, these zombies are rich and I am hungry. Don't judge me, I live in the apocalypse._

_I quietly shut the refrigerator door and go to the fruit bowl, taking three apples and a banana. Even if these zombies were evil or something, they didn't half have some decent food. I smell the open cupboards before pouring a few packets of granola bars into my rucksack. I also shoved in some clean laundry then went to the back door again._

_Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me._

Oh shit. Please don't kill me after everything._  
_

_"Don't turn around," says a deep voice, velvet calm and intimidating. Raspy with misuse, but weren't all of us a little more speechless than usual when silence is survival?_

What is he talking about? Well, I assume it's a 'he'.

_The man/woman-with-a-deep-voice grabbed my arm in a steal grip and twisted it. I felt instant pain and fell to my knees._

_"Tell me where my family is. I know you know so there is no point pretending," he/she says._

This person is a officially a nut-job.

_"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say through gritted teeth. He/she squeezed tighter on my arm and I yelped in pain._

_"Tell me or you die. I know how much you lot value your precious lives," he/she spits._

_"I swear on my own life not to attack you," I say. Seriously, this zombie is a little half-hearted. I think I should be dead by now. And shouldn't I be confronting him/her? I am the invader, though. "Please just let me go?"_

_Yeah, I know I was all tough and everything. I am a chick with a plan._

Huh, now I see why men come up with plans. It just sounds so much better. Man with a plan.

_The grip on me slackens and I am able to break free. I turn, punch the person, whether male or female, squarely in the jaw and run through the ajar back door. I leap back over the fence and run as fast as my legs will allow down the empty streets. The creep actually took time to hold me still. I could have given them the food anyway. I could have gone somewhere else._

_Suddenly, the ground disappears beneath my feet._

_"Hmmm, a zombie that runs _away_," says the voice I heard in the kitchen of the family's house. I shift under their weight._

_"I am not a_ zombie_!" I whisper harshly. "Get off me!"_

_The stranger crouches over my body, flips me over and puts their knees against my shoulders, holding me down. They sit down on my chest._

_"You're not?"_

_"No dip, Sherlock," I say, scowling. They look taken aback and move into the dim lights from the street lamps. I see the assaulter, at last. A boy. Or a man. He looks about the same age as me, seventeen if you forgot, and looks as surprised as I feel. I rule out any woman names I would have given him and all the slashed thoughts about the gender of my captor. Things like Matilda or Jenny. Ha, Matilda suits him.  
_

_He has dark hair that falls into his eyes like a fringe that grew out too quickly and almost black obsidian eyes that bore into my own. He is also wearing black clothes against the night."Please can you get off so I can breathe again?" I complain._

_"Please don't run away," he says quietly. I nod and he slides off me. I begin to take in my situation. Apart from the other human being a bit of an asshole, this is great. I haven't had contact with another human in around eight years._

_I can work on my social skills. I laughed in my mind._

_"Look, I need to talk to you," he says, uncomfortable. I can tell he is running low on ammunition for words, the adrenaline gone. "Just not here."_

_"How about my place?" I ask._

_"You have a place?" I nod and get up, beginning to lead the way, hearing his heavy footsteps fall into pace beside me._

_"So what's your name?" I ask._

_"Nick," he says, even quieter._

_"Well. I'm Max." I smile back at him. His face has changed from the puzzled boy to some kind of emotionless rock. So I will be talking to a wall from now on. _Yipee.

_*end of flashback*_

"Almost five o'clock, why?" he asks.

"I'm hungry," I say matter-of-factly.

"Max, you're always hungry," he says, grinning.

"Yeah, well, Iggy makes good food." I walk past him, feeling his eyes boring into the back of my head, making me feel a little more than uncomfortable. I don't glance back, knowing this will supply him with some ridiculous thought that I might like him.

_Is it really so ridiculous? _**_SHUT_**_** UP!**_

I walk back down the stairs to the small kitchen area where something seriously good is cooking.

"What are you cooking, Igg?" I ask, walking up to the counter and leaning against it.

"Ha, I'm already prepared," he says, revealing a batch of chocolate chip cookies already plated and slightly steaming. Man, I love Iggy's cooking and sense of when it is needed.

_It's a sexist world. 'Man'._

I take the entire plate of cookies and eat three at once. Gimme a break, they're only small. I grin at Fang, waving a cookie in his face then eating it.

Just then, something slams into the door and the handle starts to rattle as if someone is trying to get in. I look through the window and see a stumbling group of zombies headed straight for us. Great. There looks to be about fifty and we can't handle that many. Zombie attack time. The last time it was this bad was when we escaped over the border from Nevada to Arizona almost a year ago. Nine months and sixteen days to be exact. I never lose count and Iggy is basically a talking clock. I guess you could say I take advantage of that.

"What's going on?" asks Iggy, looking around at us all, not quite fixing us all with the clouded stare, but missing by bare centimetres.

"Someone's trying to get in, Igg," I say, putting down the cookies.

"A zombie?" I shake my head at his suggestion.

"I don't know."

"OPEN THE DOOR THEN!" Woah, Iggy can get loud. Good thing Ella isn't here to witness angriness. I think she is in her room.

"Fine!" I grumble and stalk over to the door and try to pull the handle. It won't budge. I shake it a little to make sure it isn't jammed. It is. I pull harder and heave my weight against it before yanking it back. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. "The door is stuck."

"What do you mean?" Iggy asks quickly, standing up. "That could be someone out there!"

"What's wrong, dudes?" Both our heads turn toward Leo's voice, glaring. "Chill, what's the problem with the door?" he asks, staring at where we are both positioned.

"It's...it's jammed," I manage to say.

"Let the Leo-mister come through," Leo says, smirking at our apparent weakness. "Team Leo all the way!" I roll my eyes at him and stand back, despite the tight situation we are in. Someone could die because of us. Someone might die because we didn't open the door. There was a frustrated scream from the other side of the door. I almost laughed but stopped myself just in time.

Leo got out his tool belt and a screwdriver that he carries everywhere and begins to take off the handle and pulling back the door. I sigh in frustration. He looks at me, grinning, before going back to his work. He stands back to admire the work. Just in time, too. Leo's face takes on a bowling ball expression as something flies at him from the door, now burst open by the intruder.

In a blur of dark brown hair and pale skin, Leo is suddenly knocked off his feet by the stranger. I quickly shut the door on the scurrying zombies and turn back to the scene before me.

"I'm going to get bombs," Iggy mutters, trying not to laugh.

Leo is lying on the floor while a girl, a little taller than him, is sprawled over him, hands either side of her face.

"Er, hi?" she says, blowing her long dark hair our of her eyes where it has fallen out of the pony-tail. "I'm really sorry for bursting into your house like this. But, you know, didn't want my brains to get eaten or anything." She grins at us. I raise my eyebrows and Leo grins. I don't think he minded. "I should probably get up?" I nod and Leo doesn't look bothered. I smirk at him.

The girl gets up and grins around sheepishly.

"Fang! We got a newcomer!" Fangs footsteps pound on the thin wood stairs and he rushes downstairs to meet the new girl. She looks away from Leo, blushing, as Fang enters the room, smirking.

"Welcome to the gang," he says. "What's your name?"

"Lauren," she says, holding out her hand.

* * *

**Leo's POV**

DAYUM! This girl literally flew at me! I am one lucky Leo! Lauren. Damn that chic is awesome! I don't want to say anything cheesy in front of her. Like Iggy does to my sister. That is creepy. And now she is looking at Fang. He is the hot one, everybody knows it. Nope, this chic is mine. He has Max and Iggy has Ella. I should not be saying that, though. She's my sister, not an item. But, still, she likes Iggy and Iggy likes her. It's all good, no?

* * *

**Max's POV**

Fang took it stiffly and shook it once. He's never been one for touching and holding and talking. Always the brick wall, the emotionless mask always occupied.

"Fang," he says gruffly.

"Interesting name you got there. And who is everyone else?"

"Leo," Leo says, interjecting his hand to shake hers. She blushes again and takes it. They shake for a little longer than normal, smiling at each other.

"Max," I say, waving my hand and smiling. She grins back at me. Just then, we all hear an explosion going off outside. "That will be Iggy," I say. "Blowing up the zombies. He's a bit of a Pyro."

"IGGY! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" shouts Ella from upstairs. I hear the laughter and so does Leo because he runs off to go and help his sister. I chuckle slightly and, in my peripheral vision, even see Fangs lips tighten at the corners, lifting a little. Smiling? Fang?

"And that will be Ella -"

"Seriously, dude! That's my sister!" yells Leo.

"Leo's sister."

* * *

**YOU'RE WELCOME LAUREN!**

**Lauren has a big crush on Leo and I said I would do her a favor, so to anyone else who is Team Leo, I am so sorry :(**

**But there it is, my first all Maximum Ride chapter! Did you like? Didn't you like it? WHAT DID YOU THINK! CRAZY AUTHOR MOMENT! And if you spot any typo's, let me know in a review...Blame the laptop keyboard, not me.**

**So, the next chapter hopefully will be up soon, but not before the end of the Easter Holidays, sadly...Sorry :(**

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW...Please?**


	4. Chapter 4

**HAZAAAAM! So, thanks for all the real nice reviews! YAYAYAYAYAAYAYAYAYAYAY!**...**and stuff :D**

**So, without further a due, HERE IS CHAPTER FOUR...Was I supposed to say anything else?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson or Maximum Ride. I OWN DIS PLOT!**

* * *

**Nico's POV**

Don't move. Not even an inch. Don't blink, don't struggle and don't move. Don't breathe heavily enough so they see you move your shoulders and chest. Even the slightest twitch can cause the pain to start again. Let them know that you're awake, and they will stab you hard in the shoulder or chest or the nearest part of skin they can find. Do _not_ open your eyes, whatever they do to you. It's simple enough; one move and you're dead.

I figured this much out over my short amount of time here. Wherever _here_ is. I'm pretty sure it's not somewhere you'd want to be, or even somewhere remotely obvious. So far, I've learnt that if you move and 'wake up', they stab you. You should keep a hold on how much time you are 'asleep' before they stab you anyway. Inject something into you which can make you believe they are arranging the very bones under your skin.

And the whole opening your eyes thing; just don't do it, period.

When I first 'woke up' here, I had to see that Thalia was okay. I had to check she was alive and with me still. Big mistake. I saw where I was and _they_ noticed. Them and their equipment.

What, of my vision I could use in the harsh white lights, I saw were five or six men and women crowded around me, holding clipboards and scribbling feverishly on them, while looking at the bleeping machines attached to me. Then there was the giant metal table I lay on.

Around me, machines beeped louder and louder as I got frantic until someone injected me with something so I became drowsy again, yet trying to fight the sleep that would always come. When sleep did come, it was dreamless and filled with occasional stabs of pain. I haven't 'woken up' since then. I learnt my lesson the first time.

Although I can't see or use my eyes to know things about my surroundings, I have other senses too. I don't use smell because it would attract too much attention and brain waves, and taste is pointless because I haven't eaten in at least an hour. They don't exactly feed me. There is only hearing and touch left to me. Apart from the other four senses **[A/N: There are NINE senses!]**. I hear the low murmur of excited voices and occasional clicks of pens and scratches of the writing. Sometimes machines beeping; and that's when I decide to stop trying to listen. I feel the tight leather straps and cool metal buckles holding me in place to the metal table by my wrists, ankles and neck. I can only see the dim lights faded to red against my closed eyelids above me.

Thalia. The other thing on my mind apart from getting away from here. My reason to get away. I have to know she is okay and that she isn't here, although it would be some sort of comforting thought. Where is she if she isn't here? Not that I want to be here.

I hope she is safe.

'BLEEP - BLEEP- BLEEEEEEP - BLEEP BLEEP!'

Great, now I've been over thinking things.

I feel a sharp stab of pain and see a shadow move over the light on my eyelids, knowing I will become drowsy again any second. Anything to get back to Thalia. It only takes a few seconds before I am out of it.

Asleep again.

* * *

**Percy's POV**

"Maybe we can find him. If you tell me where they even went, it might help?" I ask, trying to comfort her in some way. Or do something to help, because, let's face it, this girl glares so hard I feel like my insides are shriveling up. She doesn't need any comfort. Maybe some lessons in how to get someone to trust you? how about, um...not lying! Even if the information isn't important, it could have been. I try to understand, but she's a girl. No one alive understands a girl. Not even a girl.

"You won't find him." Is she protective? Overly protective? Well, I know it's her boyfriend or whatever, but I'm really here to help. "They knocked him out and took him in a van so fast I couldn't run to catch up." That would explain the loss of her bro-_boyfriend._

"So you don't trust me? I ask, slightly offended. I mean, I am trying to _help_. I know I keep saying that.

"To be fair, I have only just met you," she mutters, almost to herself. Yeah, I suppose that is fair. I'm not giving in. We're in this together. All the humans are a community, even if there are only three of us left, maybe only two now Nico has gone. I don't care who Nico is, I have to help him. It's some kind of code in my mind. In a world of zombies, every non-zombie is family.

Wow. Deep stuff.

_Be the hero_.

Uh, how?

"What did the zombies look like?" I ask, trying to think like a detective. Mr Jackson is on the case, there is no need to fear!

_What was that all about?_

"The zombies?" she looks honestly confused for a second. "Uh, they had green skin?"

"Is that a question? What were they wearing? Hair, clothes, expressions."

"They were all dressed in white coats. I didn't see their faces because they were hidden. A group of zombies were after us and the van was just there. We were running and the zombies stopped when the van drove up. The men got out and went to Nico. They took him and forgot about me. He yelled and yelled and yelled until they knocked him out. They drove off and I ran after them. I soon ran out of breath. The zombies disappeared and so did the van. I came here and..you know." _Cried._

"Men? I thought they were zombies?" I ask, hearing the speech but only picking out certain bits of information. The zombies had stopped after the van arrived. The zombies were driving. Were they even zombies? She said _men_.

"I said zombies. They were zombies. I think." I look at her, confused. "I don't know, I didn't see their faces. I just assumed because we hadn't seen humans in ages and zombies are pretty much the slower humans and smellier humans. They act the same."

I know that.

"I guess we just look around then?" I ask. "What about your other friends? Where did they go missing?"

"The group sort of...dispersed. We lost a few of them a couple of months ago, some of them weeks and the last people were lost three days ago. It was Annabeth. I think that was her name. She went after a boy called Gazzy. He went after his sister and none of them returned to the safe house."

"Why did you leave the safe house?"

"I followed Nico. Nico followed Hazel."

"Who's Hazel?"I ask, suddenly confused again from the overload of information.

"Nico's half-sister." Riiiiiggghhhttt. 'Cause that's not complicated. Since when did Nico have a sister, whether half or not? Oh yeah, 'cause I'm a stranger. I'm not supposed to know anything about her life. It would be a little creepy otherwise. Okay, maybe more than a little. Ignore me, I'm not a stalker.

"Why did Hazel leave?" I ask, sounding a little like a detective in an interrogation. DC Jackson. Maybe if the apocalypse ends, I could be a detective or something, but, then again, I'd much rather have a job near the sea. I love the sea and always have. It makes me feel calm, just don't ask my why. Reasons are too confusing.

"She '_had a bad feeling'_. I don't know what it was. She just left," Thalia pauses. I think she is holding some information back, the responses are closed. "I guess the men in white took her too. Just like they did with Nico."

_Men again? Wait, what's going on?_

* * *

**Fang's POV**

There's this new girl at the house now. The warehouse I mean. The one that we actually call home for some reason. It must be the fact that we have nowhere else to go seeing as there are mutant green people who want to eat our brains. Yeah, who wouldn't want to die a painful death of having your head chewed out by some person with chipped teeth that smell of rotten fish? I hope you saw the sarcasm. If not, you need your sarcasm-radar checked. Like soon. The fish and teeth from experience, though I'm not sure what having your head chewed on would feel like.

The new girl is a bit strange. She's quiet but has her moments of talking, which is when she gets weird. It must be the nervous talk. You talk, say something bad, then shut up for ten minutes or so. I suppose everyone is quiet and nervous when they meet new people, especially the way she did. She talks mainly to Leo and Max but avoids Iggy and I. Sometimes Ella tries to talk to her about girly stuff, having completely given up on Max a long time ago, but Lauren (I think) is not that kind of girl either. Max talks to everyone, as the leader, so it's hard to not talk to her, if you see what I mean. Ella talks to anyone just because she can. I mean, _have you heard that girl talk?_

No, because I'm writing, not talking to you and neither is Ella. If you have heard her speak, how? Wait, don't tell me the future!

I guess what I mean is, she talks so much it balances out the silence some of us have.

The only problem with living in a safe place is that it gets boring very quickly. I know this is probably not what you want to read. Maybe you're expecting plenty of zombie action from this little diary thing or whatever you call it. Well, it rarely happens. Sometimes Iggy sets of a bomb and a few come running, but they generally stay away. Don't look at me like that! I'm not a scientist! Experiments and chemicals creep me out ever since this entire thing with the new zombie world and everything. Needles are different. I. Hate. Needles.

I have memories of needles in school and in a white lab somewhere. A room of faceless people, white everywhere, and then nothing but pain and black as I passed out. I know, weird.

Footsteps pound on the stairs and our strawberry blonde-haired friend comes running into the room, breaking the silence again.

"Hey, Max, where are the basement keys? I need them," he says then looks to Leo and Lauren sitting together and tries to cover up some serious giggles with a hacking and coughing attack.

"They should be on the hook, Igs." Iggy walks over to the hooks by the door and grabs the silver key hanging on the third one along.

"How do you know who's in the room? Or where things are?" Lauren blurts out then widens her eyes but tries to cover it up. She's embarrassed.

"I have advanced hearing so I can tell whose footsteps are whose and a lot of practice," Iggy mutters before exiting the room, rubbing his eyes.

"Did I say something wrong?" Lauren asks, trying to cover up her mistake with confidence. No one answers. "So what do you do for fun around here, anyway? You know, to pass the time?"

"Sometimes we play cards. Sometimes we talk. Anything to be occupied," Max says, turning to her, stopping from staring out of the window. She seems to do that a lot.

"Can we play cards?" suggests Lauren.

"ISSV?" Max asks me. I nod.

"What's that?"

"Irish Snap," I say.

* * *

**Ella's POV**

I wrap the cardigan closer to my cold skin and walk out of the room to check on Iggy. I push aside the curtain to the boys room and see no one inside. I didn't hear him go downstairs. Oh well, I bet he is in the basement, where he always is. Or just normally.

The rough wood splinters cling to my socks as I pad downstairs, looking for Iggy. In the main living room, the rest of our group are huddled around the tiny table in between all the chairs, all smacking their hands on top of each other as Max calls,

"Seven!", slapping her hand somewhere in the middle. I smile at them and ask,

"Hey guys, do you know where-" I start but get interrupted by the players. The players of the game, don't get any ideas.

"Basement," Max cuts off, eager to see Fang's card, and to get back to the game. Those two really need to give up on their friendship or something because it gets painful to watch them.

"Thanks," I mumble before going behind the staircase and through the smaller door to the basement.

The dark comes as soon as I shut the door, but it doesn't matter; I've been here enough times, even if no one notices. Or even if they do. Leo doesn't care and hopefully never will. I'm betting on him never finding out at all.

The polished walls are smooth underneath my tracing fingers, leading me to him. A single slice of blue light draws itself around the corner against the floor as I turn a corner and push open the door to Iggy, smiling at him, working at a bench.

"Hi Ella," he says without looking up. I admire him for that. Then again, I admire him about anything.

"Hey Igs, what are you working on this time?" He looks up at me, missing my head by a mere inch or two. He gestures for me to come over to him at the bench and smirks at me.

"I'm not entirely sure, but hopefully it's gonna kill some zombies." I walk over to him and stand beside him, our arms just touching, sending tingles up my arm and through my body. One of my fingers reach out to his and they entwine as he talks. "It's a mixture of a load I found one time in that hospital, so it must be some kind of medicines. I broke down the components and added water. It smells like toxic, so I think I'm near what I need."

"Are you sure you should be smelling this stuff? Won't it poison you?" I ask, sheepish.

"You know me, Ella. I would be dead by now if I didn't know what I was doing." I nod and smile again, relieved. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and shut my eyes for a second as his lips linger. "Wanna help?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"First, put these gloves on," He moves away and passes me a pair of thick white gloves and just as I am about to ask where he got them, he says, "a take this."

"What is _this!_" I stare at the box of tiny gold metal shells, some of them rusted, and pick one up, gingerly holding it between my thumb and forefinger, balancing the box and gloves in my other hand. "Is that a _bullet?_"He looks to me in surprise. I'm not that in-experienced. Plus, I lived with Leo all my life.

"Technically, they're bullet _shells_ but it's pretty damn close. Well done." He smirks and kisses me again, teasing.

_Don't get distracted, Ella._

"You have to do this because I can't see and might spill. I can hold the shells while you pour the liquid though," he says while taking the box from me and handing me a large glass flask, numbers going up the side. "But only up to halfway, then you have to add the purple stuff in the test-tube."

"Ready when you are," I say, smiling at him.

"Ready."

Iggy takes out the first bullet shell and holds it out over the desk, where a thick cloth is placed, waiting for a spillage. Does he not trust me? Well, then again, I wouldn't trust me. I put down the flask and slide the gloves onto my shaking hands. This is a bad thing. I tip the flask down to the shell, being as slow and careful as possible, the bright blue liquid streaming out slowly, filling the shell about halfway. I put the flask down again and take the thinner test-tube of darker purple liquid.

We do this a couple dozen more times and, in the end, there are about fifty bullet shells filled and sealed with the chemicals.

"Can I wash my hands?" I ask, looking around for a wash basin.

"Yeah, sure. There's a basin behind me and two steps to the right." I walk to directly behind him and take two side-way steps to the right, leading me to the wash basin. I turn on the taps, take off the heavy gloves and feel the blessing of cold water run over my hands after so long. I hear Iggy tinkling with the bullets, loading them, them the loud click as he sets them into place. Iggy with a weapon is not a good idea.

_Uh-oh._

I turn the taps off and creep up behind Iggy, splashing cold water onto his face, giggling at his surprised expression. He wipes down his face and shakes his fingers out, splattering me with water too.

"Iggy!" I complain, stepping backward, still smiling.

"Yeah?" he asks, stepping closer to me, closing me in against the wash basin and counter top. He slips the gun in the waistband of his dark denim jeans and dips his head down so our noses are barely touching. It's the moments in this world that I live for. Only millimetres away. I look up at him at his lips and -

* * *

**OOOOOOH! CLIFFHANGER!**

**Or not. Not sure yet...BUT ANYWAY!**

**Some unexpected Eggy in there!**

**UNTIL NEXT TIME!**


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